


The Unholy Family

by aurora0914



Category: Borgias - Ambiguous Fandom, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Alcoholism, Cheating, Drug Abuse, F/M, Family, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora0914/pseuds/aurora0914
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They masquerade as a devout Roman-Catholic family, but behind the mask, there is another picture entirely. The Borgia family in the 21st century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Overview

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fanfiction on archiveofourown! Hope you enjoy <3 It includes perspectives of all family members.

Many people had obsessions.

Some obsessed over drugs; others over alcohol (were they not the same things?); and some over women. And others developed an obsession to a particular person or object. Someone famous, perhaps, or something important. Nevertheless, an obsession was an obsession - something completely normal in the 21st century. And yet. Cesare found that his obsession was what one would call particularly sinister or disturbing. He didn't know when it started. Well - he did - but he didn't know when innocent thoughts developed into lustful ones; when the thoughts of mine in a proud way developed to _mineminemine_ in a no-one-else-can-have-her way. Obsessive and possessive. He never ever thought those words would ever describe him. But they did. Perfectly. 

And most people had obsessions, and they weren't particularly bad; it was just his luck that his obsession was over his sister, his own flesh-and-blood.

_II._

The first thing he could remember, to his distaste, was Juan's arrival to the world. He remembered hating it; the attention given to the new baby,the new boy that everyone grew to love in a minimal amount of time. He remembered feeling a sense of loss, a feeling so intense that it was unmatched by anything that he had ever experienced previously. And so he grew to dislike Juan, who was only two years his junior; it didn't help that Juan was disagreeable from his birth. 

He remembered the softness of his mother's embrace; the hard but kind hands of his father; the small teddy bear that he carried everywhere with him. He also remembered the second new addition to the family; one that he had immediately accepted without any sort of qualm. 

After Juan, his subconscious mind must have decided to copy the adults with the next baby - if there was a next baby - which there was. And so when Lucrezia arrived into the world, he was completely ready to be an older brother, and to love the new baby the way he couldn't ever love Juan. And Juan, of course, grew to dislike the baby for the same reasons that Cesare had disliked Juan. Lucrezia had stolen his thunder; and because of Juan's distaste and childish jealousy over the attention bestowed upon her, Cesare felt even more protective and brother-like. So he stuck around her whenever he could; played with her whenever he could; cared for her whenever he could. 

It helped that her hair was so soft, and that her skin was so smooth; and that whenever she smiled, it was as if the heavens had split open to release the brightest ray of light they could. He remembered doing whatever he could to make her smile. 

_III._

Cesare was seven and Lucrezia was three when she was able to talk. She was an affectionate child; giving hugs and kisses and more hugs and kisses whenever she could, which was often. 

Vannozza loved cuddling her little girl; she loved her boys, too, but there was something about having another kindred spirit in the house - she was pregnant with her next child, and she knew this one would be a boy. Vannozza thought that she'd stop there - four children were plenty. And with that, she knew that Lucrezia would remain her little girl forever. 

"I love you Momma," Lucrezia beamed at her, her small hands curling over Vannozza's fingers. "Mowe than any-wone."

Cesare, who had been listening quietly next to them, suddenly burst into tears. Vannozza startled - Cesare was now far too old for sudden tantrums, and besides, he almost never had tantrums; so instead of being annoyed, Vannozza looked at him, concerned. 

Cesare stood up from the chair and started walking away. "Cesare," she called after him, worried. What was suddenly wrong with her little boy? He was fine five minutes ago, was he not?

He turned around, and she swore that she saw something akin to hatred in his eyes. But that was impossible; there was no way for a child to hate his mother who loves him. 

Vannozza stood still, puzzled, confused, and even more worried. She finally decided against going to see him; she didn't want to make it worse. Instead, she turned to Lucrezia. "Go comfort  your brother," she told her daughter. Lucrezia nodded, cocked her head curiously, and was off to her brother. 

Vanozza sat thinking for a few moments. It was probably nothing, she told herself. And yet, there was a little twinge in the pit of her stomach that would not disappear. 

_IV._

A couple of days later, Cesare had Lucrezia playing on his bed while he sat beside her, staring at her intensely. 

"Lucrezia," he said softly. "Lucrezia," he repeated again when she didn't reply. This time, she turned her head towards him, giving him her full attention with those big, wide blue eyes of hers. 

"Chezza?" she questioned, blinking. 

"Who do you love the most?" his voice was deathly soft. 

She blinked once more before her face split into a grin. "I love everybo-wy, Chezza!" 

He frowned. 

His small body approached hers, hugging her from behind, bringing her small body to his chest. "You shouldn't, sis,"

"Why?"

He burrowed his face in her hair. "You should love  _me."_ _  
_

Her adorable face scrunched up in confusion. "I love you, Chezza."

He brought his lips to her ear. "You should only love  _me,_ sis. Me, more than anyone. Only me." She snuggled against his chest, and he let his small (but considerably larger than hers) hands envelop hers. For some reason, his heart was pounding. He didn't know why; but he knew that he had to say this. She was his. She had to love him. He didn't know why, but she did; she was his. Only his. 

"But... But momma and-"

" _Me._ " he cut her off.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice a bit dreamy. She was only three, he knew; but that didn't matter. 

"Say it. Repeat after me: I only love you."

"I onwee love you, Chezza."

He smiled.

"Good."

_V._

Lucrezia is almost six when she can speak in full sentences. She can also memorise poems now, recite them so well that she charms all adults around her. A week before her sixth birthday it is such an instance; her preparing and reciting a poem, "Now we are Six," in front of Vennozza, who looked on adoringly. 

By the time she had finished, Vannozza was all over her, showering her with hugs and kisses. "You're such a smart girl," the mother cooed, kissing Lucrezia's forehead. "I love you, my baby girl." 

Lucrezia nodded and hugged her mother, but said nothing. It was cute, Vannozza thought - she was so big now that she was embarrassed to talk about love. She had experienced a similar thing with her boys; it was cute, how shy Lucrezia was. 

A couple of hours later, Cesare came back from school, opening his arms expectantly to Lucrezia, who ran into them, not restraining herself from jumping. "I love you, Cesare," she giggled, kissing his neck. 

"You love me... and?" he cocked an eyebrow, waiting to hear an answer that he'd heard many times before. 

"I only love you, Cesare."

He smiled. 

"Good."

_VI._

Cesare sat on the stairs, hugging his knees, listening and watching what was going on downstairs. Furniture rattling; glass breaking; noise. Shouts. Screams. He hated it, but it was something he was used to - has been used to for a very long time. And yet, he had to stand guard on the stairs unless Lucrezia decided to come down, to witness the dysfunction which was their family. 

Only she mattered, he thought bitterly.

"How could you!?" he heard his mother's voice, bitter, angry. "With another  _whore?!_ Do you not care about this family? Do you not care about  _me?!_ " 

"Vannozza, please," his father's tone screamed of barely held back impatience and anger. 

"Don't _Vannozza, please,_ me! Why I have half a mind to wake up the children and leave from this house this very moment!"

"So why don't you?" Rodrigo bellowed, his anger unleashed. "Because you're an incompetent housewife who has never worked in her life, that's why? Where will you go? To your lovers? To your parents?"

Vannozza whimpered. "Rodrigo, you  _know_ my parents! And I don't have lovers... THAT'S ONLY YOU! AND YOUR NEWEST _WHORE_ IS YOUR SECRETARY! How could you DO this to me?"

"Woman, don't you ever SHUT UP?!" 

More glass shattering. A bottle being uncorked. Gulping noises. 

"You'd do well to keep your mouth shut, and remember who's providing for this family. Now, excuse me," Rodrigo - in his head, Cesare never referred to him as his 'father' - left and headed for the stairs. Cesare was quicker - he hid in one of the gaps in the hallway, waiting for his father to pass, knowing the feud was over. It was safe to leave now. His mother would stay downstairs, and wouldn't come back for hours - and by then, she'd be too drunk to even recognise the features of her son. 

He slipped into Lucrezia's room, softly shutting to door. He ducked under the covers, pulling her snoring form to him, and breathed in her scent. It was vanilla and honey and it was warm, comforting. Cesare did this almost every night; a daily routine. Normally it was the younger sibling that searched for the elder, not the other way around, he thought to himself, finding the irony. 

He hugged her to him, his left hand trembling ever-so-slightly. It didn't normally; he had stopped trembling long ago. And yet... He hugged Lucrezia closer. 

"Brother?" she murmured sleepily, opening her eyes drowsily. 

"Hush, my love. Go back to sleep."

"Hmm," she replied, her eyes shutting back down. 

Cesare also fell asleep shortly after, snugly holding the only thing in the house that mattered to him.

_VII._

Why did his father even bother? Cesare couldn't help but wonder in slight disgust. It was a 'boys bonding day' and Cesare wished that he could be anywhere but here, as he often did whenever such days came rolling about. His father may as well call them 'Juan and Rodrigo bonding days' because that's all they amounted to being - his father sternly looking at him while Juan was lavished in attention and presents, as he so often was. 

He was eleven, and he still couldn't understand. Why was Juan better than him? He wasn't; at Juan's age (9) Cesare had already achieved so much more - had read so many more books, had gotten so much farther in school. Purely aesthetically, he preferred his own looks to Juan, and that was looking at it objectively. 

And yet... and yet...  _Juan always got all the attention._ Rodrigo always fulfilled his whims and flights of fancy, and had never done so for Cesare; the difference in treatment was so glaringly obvious, that it left the elder brother more than a bit disgruntled. 

He stared now as Rodrigo taught Juan how to fish, while not even turning to see how Cesare was doing with his own fish hook. Never mind that it was the first time he'd taken either of them out fishing.

Juan threw the hook into the lake, and Rodrigo smiled proudly, boastfully. "That's it, my son!"

 _My son._ Cesare couldn't remember that term ever being used in front of him. 

Hatred bubbled in his gut at the both of them, but he pushed it down. Whatever. At the end of the day, he'd go home and see Lucrezia, and he'd burrow his nose in her hair and have the scent calm him down. It always did.

_VIII._

Geoffre was playing with Lucrezia's dolls in the living room when he heard Lucrezia and Cesare get back from school. He heard giggling and laughing, and for reasons he didn't know at all, he felt sad. At four, he was accustomed to being on his own with maids; Vannozza very rarely clambered down from her own room before noon, and even then, she never paid Geoffre any mind. That left him to the maids, who weren't the most talkative, nor did they like playing with him. 

He didn't look up from his dolls when his siblings entered the living room. There was no need to; Lucrezia rarely got mad for things like this. 

"Hey, Jeff," she greeted him, calling him with a pet name. Geoffre could hear no affection nor warmth in her tone. 

"Hello Creia," he greeted back with his tongue that still couldn't pronounce 'Lucrezia'. 

Cesare only nodded at him, before pulling Lucrezia by the hand past the living room, and upstairs into their bedrooms. 

Geoffre watched them leave, and looked at the dolls. He hugged them to his chest. "You'll be my friends," he whispered, a small tear escaping his eye. 

Even though he'd been alone the whole day, whenever Lucrezia and Cesare came back from school he felt even more alone. 

_IX._

She was trapped... in a cage. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe. She stared at Rodrigo from her cage, who was free, able to do anything he wanted. She watched him fuck other nameless, faceless women and she stood there, helpless. There was nothing she could do. There was no one she could run to.

Suffocating, suffocating. She couldn't move as the chains came around her wrists, bound her ankles, bound her neck.

She watched as Rodrigo pulled away from the woman and came to hug her children that suddenly appeared. Don't, she thought in horror - he didn't even shower, he was covered in the smell of another woman's perfume - but she couldn't do anything to stop it. And they were willing to be hug, accepting,  _smiling at him._ They didn't even smell the other woman's smell; probably couldn't even differentiate. 

She watched a faceless woman come to Rodrigo's side, watched as she held her arms out to the children. Watched as the children came to hug her too, came to smile at her.

She was being replaced. Betrayed. 

Again.

Vannozza awoke with a start to an empty bed and a horrible headache. She was sweating and her hands felt shaky; she couldn't even remember what the dream was about. You'd think that after experiencing it every single day, it'd get better, she thought irritably. But no. Well, she knew one solution to her problem. 

She reached for the wine bottle next to her bed. There was a vodka bottle next to it, but even she couldn't have vodka so early in the morning. 

The clock next to her read 1:52. 

_X._

Cesare stared at the other occupants in the room. It was a normal school day, and everyone was only just getting used to how secondary school worked. For Cesare, however, the adjustment was easier than for most. 

It looked like no one was going to answer the question the teacher had asked, he thought with a twinge of annoyance. He might as well answer it before someone was picked on unwillingly - so he raised his hand slowly, observing the almost relieved expression on the teacher's face as she called on him. 

Of course, he answered the question correctly; a question that no one else in the class could. The response was immediate; the teacher beamed, and his schoolmates stared. Some looked on in admiration, some snickered, calling him a 'bookworm' but their jokes were useless; Cesare could read the envy in their eyes. After all, it was the same envy that used to show in his whenever he saw Juan. 

"You're so smart, Cesare," the girl next to him whispered. "You're good at everything."

And then she turned away, like everyone else did. Too afraid to talk to him. Feeling too inferior, like he was someone that had to be measured up to. 

It was okay. He didn't need friends. 

After all, he had Lucrezia waiting for him at home. 


	2. Growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeper look at relationships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive feedback and Kudos! Here is the second part of The Unholy Family.

Lucrezia stared at the ceiling, wondering when, what... and more than anything,  _why._ How did she get in this dark space? When did... When did her brother become the centre of her universe? And more than anything, why was that wrong? No... it wasn't wrong. They were wrong. They had to be. Cesare was the only one who is right, the only one who will always ever be right. 

She should know this... and yet... and yet.

_XI._

"Cesare," Lucrezia mentioned, aged nine and mature (according to her). "What exactly  _is_ sex? I know that it makes children... but how?" She was almost amused by the shade of red that her brother's cheeks turned. 

"It is," he managed, "it is the act of... intercourse between a man and a woman."

"Okay," Lucrezia accepted, sighing. "What is  _intercourse?_ "

"It is when a man's... penis... enters a woman's... vagina... and ejaculates, more often than not." Cesare explained, ensuring that the words he used were scientific and correct. 

His younger sister only felt more confused than before. "What is a vagina? Is it my... private area?" that was how most girls termed it, anyway. Cesare only nodded. 

"And is the penis... a guy's... private area?" Cesare nodded once more. Had the red from his cheeks dissipated? He thought not.

"And if I am a girl, and you are a boy, Cesare - does that mean you have a penis?" she said it so frankly that it left Cesare impressed.

"Yes," he answered verbally this time.

"Then that is your private area, Cesare? One that even _I_ haven't been in?"

He kept quiet, his gaze becoming intense. His molten hazel eyes could almost stare through her blue ones. "Do you want to be?" he asked, his face leaning into hers. 

"Can I?" she asked, slightly surprised. Then again - how can there be something of Cesare's which she didn't know.

"Yes, Lucrezia," his face was so close that she could feel his warm breath on her skin. "Whenever you want... Just ask."

She grinned. "Now?"

"Why you little," he smirked back, reaching over to tickle her. She giggled, and tried jumping away.

  _XII._

Cesare was eight when he was particularly curious about what people called 'sex'. He'd heard the term being used before many times, but hadn't known what it meant. So it was time to find out... And who could he ask? His father... No. He had no inclination to speak with his father about anything first. His mother? But she was a woman, and it was uncomfortable to speak with her about something that felt private. As the eldest sibling, there was no  _way_ he'd admit that he didn't know something to _Juan._

So therefore, he'd ask the best person available: Uncle Google. 

He typed 'What is sex?' in the search bar, and waited for the results to show up. The first thing that came up was a dictionary definition that described it as intercourse, something that happened between a man and woman. That didn't really explain anything, so he clicked on the first link, which also described it in detail, using words that Cesare mostly didn't know. So he went back, and clicked on images. After seeing a couple of rather bizarre pictures, he finally decided that he wasn't getting anywhere when he saw a banana wrapped in plastic. Because, really, what did a  _banana_ have to do with anything?

In a last ditch effort, he only typed in sex in the search bar, and waited for pictures to come up. And this time, he did get a better idea of what it was about - men and women. Or rather, a man and a woman together. Kissing together, laying on top of each other, naked. Their legs tangled. 

He stared at the first picture that featured a dark head man and a blonde female.

She looked a bit like what Lucrezia would look like when she was older...

He quickly exited out of the link, and deleted all of his history. There was the faintest hint of a blush in his cheeks.

  _XIII._

Rodrigo and Vannozza made their way into the classroom to meet Cesare's primary school teacher. It was parent's evening, and they were to have a one-on-one (or one-on-two, in this case) session with her, and discuss Cesare's progress. 

Rodrigo grumbled a bit under his breath. He had no particular want to be here; but nevertheless, he must ensure that his son was representing him and the Borgia family well in school. 

"Come in," the teacher called out, hearing their footsteps through the door. Vannozza was the one who opened it, a practiced smile emerging on her face as she did so. 

The teacher, a middle-aged looking man, visibly brightened when he saw them approach. "Ah, Cesare's parents, yes? You're right on time,"

They nodded, and took a seat across from him. "Now, Sir, if there is anything you wish to correct about my son, I would rather it be spoken frankly-" Rodrigo was cut off. 

"Oh no, no, no no no!" the teacher beamed. "Cesare is an excellent student! So excellent, in fact, that he may fall into the category of genius if his talents are explored more thoroughly."

Rodrigo's eyebrows rose at the man's excitement. Well, he expected nothing less of Cesare, but nevertheless... "Talents in what, sir?" his wife enquired, curious. 

"Well, talents in all academic subjects. He's also rather talented in maths and sciences in particular. He's not as enthusiastic about speaking and such."

"Hmm... And he causes no problems?" Rodrigo probed further. 

"Well..." the teacher leaned in a bit conspiratorially. "He could do a bit better when it comes to making friends."

"Friends?" Vannozza asked, puzzled. She had never had such problems, and didn't imagine that any of her children would experience such difficulties. 

"Yes. He's often the odd one out when I call for them to assemble into pairs or groups."

"So he's antisocial then, is he not?" Rodrigo's tone spelled his disappointment.

"No, no. I wouldn't call it _antisocial._ Anyway, on his last test, he got..."

_XIV._

Juan was six when he enrolled in the same primary school as Cesare. He sat, eyes wide in a large classroom, somewhat frightened to be away from home and his parents and his nannies for the first time. The teacher, however, was lovely and welcoming; she almost reminded him of his mother, except nicer. It somewhat put him at ease. 

They took a register; when they reached Juan Borgia, the teacher stopped for a bit, looked up at him and smiled. "Juan, is it? Cesare's younger brother?"

Juan nodded, frowning a bit. He never understood why, but his older brother had never really liked him, so Juan didn't really like him either. He didn't really liked being associated with him - even though at the time, it was only childish rivalry that kept them apart. 

But still. At the time it hadn't bothered him.

"Yes," he said, answering the teacher's question. She beamed once more, and continued doing the register. 

At the end, she pulled him aside saying, "It's really lovely for you to be in my class! Cesare was in my class last year, and he was a very good student. I look forward to teaching you!" 

Juan nodded, but at the childish age of six, he couldn't bring himself to smile - or find a reason to. 

Throughout the duration of the year, the teacher smiled less and less when she saw him as Juan proved to be quite the troublemaker - put pins on her chair once - and asked him, "Why can't you be more like your brother?"

It wasn't the first time Juan had been asked that, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. 

_XV._

The girls looked over at Lucrezia, giggling and whispering. 

"Ew, what is she eating?"

"Look at her hair... it's obviously  _fake._ I mean, Daddy said Italians are dark haired, right?"

"My Dad said that they're part of the  _mafia!_ "

"No way,"

"Way!"

Lucrezia, already ten, was well practiced in ignoring the 'hushed' whispers of her classmates. It's been going on for long enough anyway, that she reckons that she could do it for days - and not get told off, or anything. The teacher never really asks her to answer questions anyway, as she tended to keep to herself - and away from those girls that made it their business to be rude. But at least it was only talking now. Last year, they had taken to a game that stated if Lucrezia touched them or brushed against them, they'd be 'infected'. So every time Lucrezia moved past their desks, they'd jump away and make exaggerated gagging motions. 

She hated it. She hated  _them._

She hated schools. 

The teachers thought that they were harmless because they were still young; on the contrary, Lucrezia was sure that that's when they do the most damage. And kids were cruel. More cruel than adults, even - so sometimes Lucrezia didn't understand why they were always pitied more. 'Save the children' many would say, and it's like they were suddenly enlightened and enraged at the same time. Personally, she didn't understand - probably never would - and definitely disagreed. 

But the saddest thing of all was... If it wasn't for Cesare, she was pretty much certain that she'd hate being at home more than being at school. Because when Cesare wasn't home, every time she so much heard as a creak or the door opening or something, she'd jump, almost like a frightened rabbit. She hated that, too. Being weak. And Cesare thought that she didn't know about her mother's drinking or their father's cheating or their mutual everyday conflict - but she wasn't ignorant, and she did know. Just like she knew that those girls behind her had now moved on to talking smack about her parents - smack she couldn't deny.

But whatever. Today would end, and she'd go home and see Cesare and smile - because if anyone made her happy, it's him.

_XVI._

She was seven when she first brought home a friend from school. Lucrezia was a well liked, bubbly girl that managed to make friends easily - and that showed in school, especially. So when her first friend came over, she was quite excited, and couldn't wait to tell Cesare. 

He didn't take the news as well as expected, but she wasn't fully aware of that. Instead, she went on and on about her friend, undeterred - didn't notice as Cesare's eyes narrowed, a frown taking up his face, increasing with each word Lucrezia uttered. 

When the girl finally came over, her parents were civil towards her - that made Lucrezia beam with joy. She took her friend up to her room, and they decided to watch a movie and eat some junk food, as kids liked doing. Lucrezia told her that she needed to get some drinks, and went downstairs leaving the girl in the room on her own. Almost like a shadow, Cesare slithered into the room, taking a seat next to her. He was peculiarly tall for an eleven year old boy, tall enough to be somewhat intimidating to his peers, never mind a small seven year old girl. Still, she smiled uneasily, pointing to the screen and telling him about the movie. 

"I'm going to only tell you once, and I'm going to be  _very_ clear about it," Cesare stated, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You will stay away from Lucrezia and from this house. I never want to see you here again. And you should listen to me - it's  _my_ house." With one last glare, Cesare left once more and the girl burst into tears. And it was only then that Lucrezia came back, holding drinks - she immediately became bewildered and concerned at once. 

"What's wrong?" she asked soothingly, but her tone was lost on the girl, who looked up at her through teary eyes. 

"It's a-all your fault! I wanna go home! I want my mummy!" she screamed, and knocked one of the glasses away from Lucrezia's hands. It dropped to the floor, shattering upon impact - it shattered something else, too. "I want my mummy!"

"Okay, okay. We'll get your mummy now." and somehow, the situation was dealt with accordingly and the girl went home safely. 

But the next day when Lucrezia walked into school, she was confronted with a group of girls led by the girl that was at her house yesterday. There was a mean look in her eyes, one of abhorrence; Lucrezia tried asking what was wrong, but she would have none of it. 

That was the day that the insults started. 

That was the day that Lucrezia lost her ability to make friends.

_XVII._

Lucrezia was home alone for once. It was a rare occasion; they were a rather large household. Her father was at work, mother was out shopping with Geoffre, Juan was never home on Saturdays, and Cesare had a maths competition to do for his school. And well, she was eleven, more than old enough to be in a house by herself without someone kicking up a fuss. She stood up, feeling the need to go to the toilet. 

And when she got on the toilet she jumped and let out a small, frightened shriek. There was blood on her panties. 

What was she to do? Who was she to ask?

Her mother?

No, she thought immediately, her thoughts turning to the empty alcohol bottles by her mother's bed. No... but maybe she could ask the internet. Or read some books. Something. Or better yet... a pharmacist or a doctor; they'd know better. 

She got up, put a rag in her panties to absorb the blood (it didn't seem to be stopping, but at least it didn't hurt), got dressed and left the house, not forgetting to lock it. Her legs were slightly shaky when she started off her brisk walk, but she got more confident as she kept on walking (as it still wasn't hurting, for some bizarre reason). When she got to her destination, she wearily glanced left and right before she entered - just in case there was someone she knew around to witness the forthcoming embarrassing moment. However, upon entering, she bumped into a familiar face - Giulia Farnese, her father's secretary. 

Great, she thought sarcastically, from all the people to bump into, it just  _had_ to be her father's not-so-secret lover. And of course, Giulia  _had_ to recognise her. 

"Lucrezia! What are you doing here?"

"Well," she shifted uncomfortably, what should she say? Should she admit the truth? Giulia  _was_ a woman, and wasn't a complete stranger (a not-stranger that she hardly ever saw)... it wouldn't be too bad. Besides, she herself held nothing against the woman. "I started bleeding today," she decided to elaborate, awkwardly pulling her blonde hair behind her ear. 

Giulia tilted her head elegantly to the side. "Are you alright?" 

Lucrezia sighed. "If only I knew. It doesn't hurt... I'm bleeding from... down  _there._ " 

Giulia's expression morphed to one of understanding, and there was just a hint of... pity. Lucrezia would have wondered why, but she was probably reading too much into it. 

"That's your period, dear. It's when girls become women... when they are able to have children."

"Oh... so it means that if I have sex, I'll get pregnant?"

Giulia nodded, smiling. "Good girl," she complimented, before warning her to not have sex. Lucrezia thought that she was being a bit hypocritical since she was having sex with her father, but decided not to start arguments here and now, at the pharmacist's. 

Instead... "So I'll bleed until...?"

"Well, it's a couple of days, normally. And it happens once every month. The body renews its ability to have children."

Lucrezia nodded. 

"You need pads to absorb the blood. I'd buy you some... if we were friends... Are we friends?"

Her whole face brightened, and she flipped her blonde curls back with her right hand. "You'd do that? You'd be... my friend?" she asked, trying not to seem too desperate. It's just... she hasn't had friends in  _so long._

"Sure," Giulia's heart melted, and there was that pity in her eyes again, and Lucrezia simply didn't understand why it was there. "Now, about those pads..."

_XIX._

 

Cesare had football training after school, so he was later in coming home than Lucrezia was. When he came home, the first thing he did was look for her. Normally, she'd be waiting in his room, doing her homework; then they'd go to dinner, and afterwards if they had finished their homework, they'd watch a movie. And sometimes, after going to bed, he'd sneak into her room and talk about his day; ask her about hers; snuggle with her on her bed. Sometimes she was asleep when he entered, so he'd just watch her sleep, watch her breathe in and out. Push his nose into her hair and just breathe in her scent. 

But today, she wasn't waiting in his room. And when he checked her room, she wasn't there either. 

He checked every room in the house. 

She wasn't there. 

He didn't remember her having a club on today; so he thought about who could possibly know: his mother? No, she was probably completely wasted by now. His father was at work - there was no way he could know. Juan wouldn't come home until late (and when he did, he always stank of alcohol and recently, cigarettes. He was only thirteen; but Cesare had no doubt he'd move up to weed soon). That left... who did that leave? Geoffre!

Cesare thought that he saw him in the living room. As fast as lighting, he was there, and felt a little out of breath even though he hadn't really moved far at all. 

"Geoffre! Have you seen Lucrezia?" he looked up from his dolls. He was seven, and he was still playing with dolls, Cesare thought, inwardly rolling his eyes. When would he grow up?

"Ah. Lucrezia went out with a friend," he said, not looking up from his toys. 

"What?"

"She's with a friend," Geoffre explained patiently, his grip on his dolls tightening. 

"Right," Cesare said, distracted. "Did you finish your homework, buddy?"

Geoffre looked up, his expression hopeful. "Yes, I-"

"Good, good," his older brother interrupted, leaving the room.

"A friend," he muttered, not noticing Geoffre's expression falling. Cesare's eyes narrowed, his fist clenched, his nostrils flared. A friend. And he knew that this was a thought that he shouldn't have but - what could possibly be more important than  _him_? _  
_

_XX._

When Lucrezia came home, the first thing she did was go up to her room to change; she had been out with Giulia, and she had tried making herself look presentable, so the dress that she had on was starting to feel itchy. 

A friend. 

She felt giddy. 

She finally had a friend that wasn't a family member. Or more like - a friend that wasn't Cesare.

So when she went upstairs, she wasn't expecting to see Cesare sat on her bed, his arm crossed, an angry expression on his face. An angry expression that she's never seen directed at  _her._ So that immediately ruined any giddy feelings that she had before. 

When he saw her enter, he stood up, letting his eyes bore into hers. "Where have you been?!" He finally exploded, threateningly - when had Cesare ever been threatening? - stepping forward to face her. 

Lucrezia stood petrified, not sure what had brought this anger on, but whatever it was, she promised to stop, to stop. This was terrifying. If Cesare was angry at her, where that leave her? Who would she go to? There was no one, no one. Giulia was just a new friend (that she couldn't even _trust_ ) and her father's mistress (wasn't she  _betraying_ her mother?) and oh god, at least twice her age. But how could she explain to Cesare her failures, about having no friends, about how much she hated school truthfully? She couldn't. He'd hate her.  _  
_

But it looked like he hated her now, and it made Lucrezia feel like she should have never been born. 

"With a friend," she managed to reply, biting back her tongue, her eyes starting to water now that the shock had passed, slightly. 

" _Just_ a friend? Dressed like  _that?_ " he hissed, and Lucrezia wanted to spill everything but she couldn't tell him that she was meeting her father's mistress behind her mother's back. He'd hate her even more than he seemed to hate her now. _  
_

"Yes," she nodded furiously, bringing a trembling hand to wipe the tears that were cascading down her cheeks. 

He immediately softened when he saw her tears, and brought a hand to wipe them away.

"I love you," he said softly, not able to help himself. He had tried to avoid saying it, knowing that it'd be all wrong if it came out of his mouth. But he told her now. Reminded her. 

She nodded, relieved. "I love you, too," she told him, cracking a small smile. 

"More than anyone?"

"Of course," she exclaimed, feeling a bit affronted that he could doubt something like that.

"Good," he smiled, his face so close that she could feel his breath. And he couldn't resist. "Mine," he whispered softly before he crashed his lips to hers.

Well, she was eleven now, right? Surely old enough to kiss, he assured himself, pleased when she kissed back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a bit slow, probably. Please comment below to tell me what you think!


	3. And Growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeper look at characters

Rodrigo hadn't wanted much in life. No wait - that was a lie. He hadn't always wanted so much in life. He had just wanted to secure the best possible position - monetary, socially, whatever - for his family. He himself was from a poor background, so when he was younger, he had sworn that he'd get to the top, and that his children would have the best. And they did have the best: the best clothes, the highest quality education - whatever they wanted. He wasn't sure when that need to secure for his family ended up turning into ambition, turning into more, more,  _moremoremore._ It was probably the consumerism of the society in which he lived; or maybe it was his need to see things to the end. Either way, he was not satisfied being second in the company - Vice-Chair - he had to be  _Chair._

It didn't matter what he needed to do to get there. Whatever it was, he'd do it.

_XXI._

It wasn't that Rodrigo didn't love his children, because he did. However, he could admit privately to himself that he didn't love them equally - could parents love their children equally in the first place? He would never believe that to be the case. And for him, it just so happened that his eldest son was the most exceptional out of them all. Cesare Borgia - a strong name, for a strong lad. Rodrigo himself hadn't been that bright as a child; he could certainly expect great things from his eldest. 

And that expectation led to having high standards, and a certain crippling disappointment whenever those standards weren't fulfilled. And of course, guilt. God (may the Lord forgive him for saying His name in vain), the guilt was huge - poor Juan, who would never be quite as bright, or as handsome, or as talented as his elder brother. And Rodrigo was sure that Juan knew it, too - so he did his upmost best as a father to lavish him with as many gifts as possible while he could. Because when Rodrigo was dead and gone, he knew who would actually be getting the inheritance he left behind - Cesare. He could trust him to expand it, trust him to take care of the family. Trust him in a way he probably could never trust Juan or Gioffre - because Cesare was his  _eldest son,_ the son that would be everything he wanted him to be and more. 

He knew this already; soon the whole world would know it, too.

_XXII._

After kissing, Cesare gathered Lucrezia in his arms, and they cuddled together on the bed. They were too old for this, he knew - but it wasn't like there was anyone who was going to catch them. His father would be out with his lover somewhere while his mother drunk off her wits and the maids and butlers were already retired for the day which left him to his own devices. But this was nothing new. 

"Cesare," Lucrezia mumbled into his chest, her fingers tightening on his shirt. "What does it mean to be yours? You said I was yours earlier, but I don't think I am."

His body tensed, and a dangerous light clouded his eyes. What was she trying to say? Didn't she want him? She had to; she was his, his, his -  _his_ \- he had to make her understand... No one but her mattered to him, wasn't it the same for her, too? But finally, he managed to say a tensed, "Oh," as he waited for her to correct herself. 

"Because, well, Cesare, I don't think I can belong to anyone but me. How can I be yours, when I am mine?" her voice childishly conveyed her thoughts, and in an instant, he was relaxed. He laughed; it was a deep rumbling laugh that caused Lucrezia to look at him curiously. "Whats funny?" she demanded, because she didn't get the joke.

"Nothing, sis," he kissed her forehead. "I'm just reminded that you're still eleven."

"And you're still fifteen, Cesare, what does age matter?"

"A whole deal, in the eyes of the law," he smoothed over her hair affectionately. "But then again, who is to say the law matters?" his voice turned a bit bitter. "It is constantly changing, adapting itself to be suited for the needs of the rich and the people in power! It all depends on what time you live in..." when he saw her confused face, he stopped his rant. Yes; the law would look down on _them_ and try to lock Cesare up, even though he loved her more than anything. And still in ancient times Egyptian pharaohs married brothers and sisters (why was he born in this age? And what was a couple of thousand years in the timeline of the Universe?). The law would have been on his side, then. "Go to sleep," he said instead, suddenly tired. 

"Okay," she replied, before she promptly fell asleep in his arms.

He smiled at her unconscious display of trust. 

_XXIII._

It wasn't that Rodrigo didn't love Vannozza anymore. For he did; how could a man not love a woman that had born four of his children and continued being his wife, continued being by his side? However, even though he loved her... it was not the same. He would remember himself as a twenty-five year old, fresh out of college when he met her, and then look at himself in the mirror and wonder where all of that time escaped to. When had he gotten so old? It made him feel frightened and anxious at the same time; a deep anxiety that grew with every day that slipped past. 

He wasn't sure when his eyes started to wander away from Vannozza, and to other women; maybe soon after she gave birth to Gioffre. His first affair followed shortly; with one of his young secretaries that went by the name of Anne. Of course, he had felt disgusted with himself, and was plummeted into a state of self-loathing for a certain period of time... but after that passed, he had come to a startling revelation: it made him feel young again. 

To have the women - young, fresh (like he had been, what felt like so many years ago) - want him back, gave him a feeling of exhilaration. He was not too old for this; he was still wanted, still vigorous. The feeling of chase gave him a rush of adrenalin, like nothing else did, these days. So he didn't stop, even though the guilt was heady. 

And then after Vannozza noticed, she started drinking, and well - the other women distracted him from the disaster that his wife was turning into. And the guilt slowly faded away. 

_XXIV._

Juan loved his father. 

Rodrigo Borgia, for all of his faults (or so the saying went, because Juan was sure that he didn't have any) was the best father a boy like him could ask for. He bought him presents, took him fishing, and maybe the most important part: never compared him to his brother, Cesare. He was sick and tired of being compared to Cesare - "Oh, Cesare was _much_ better behaved, Juan, you should learn from him," or "Cesare got this immediately, Juan, why can't you," or "Great job, Juan! Cesare was also the captain of the basketball team last year!" - and his father was the only one who refrained from doing so. Juan understood; Cesare was better, smarter, sportier, more creative, more  _everything_ than Juan. No matter how hard he tried, he could never beat Cesare. His brother had gotten the better deal of the gene pool, that was all. 

_That was all._

But it wasn't. It was the story of Juan's life - and he hated it. He hated Cesare. If only Cesare didn't exist, then he wouldn't have to feel like his, he wouldn't be belittled all the time, wouldn't- but no, that was wrong. For as much as he hated him, he also loved him, too; he was the big brother that helped him with his homework whenever he had to resort to asking him, and he's always been a constant in his short life. He's someone that Juan strived to be like, strived to _be._ The stars that he could see and that gave him light, the stars he could never reach. 

And besides, there was one thing that he had and Cesare wanted: father's attention. Juan secretly delighted in watching Cesare's eyes cloud up with envy whenever they were together with their father; because he,  _Juan Borgia,_ was someone's number one for once.  And Juan loved his father more for it. 

But one day, he started noticing things about Rodrigo Borgia - like the way his eyes shined with pity whenever they saw him. Juan hadn't understood why his gut clenched in anger, or why a small part of him started to hate him, his father. He hadn't understood, hadn't wanted to, and just focused on the fact that  _he_ was his father's number one.

_XXV._

 Gioffre sat back at the edge of the classroom, his eyes wide, observing, but blank. He watched his classmates chatter amongst themselves; bickering, joking, _laughing._ God, he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed.

He wanted to join them. He really did. He wanted to laugh, wanted to laugh until he cried, but he just didn't find anything funny enough; couldn't find a person to share a joke with. He wanted to approach them, to say hi, but he couldn't - he didn't know how to.

How does one engage in a conversation? What would he talk about? Would they even want to talk to... to  _him?_  Why would they, when even his family couldn't care less? They wouldn't. So there was no point in even trying.

Gioffre was used to being alone.

In fact, he'd never known anything different. And he probably never would.

Ignoring everyone else, he reached for his bag, where he found his doll: his first and only friend.

_XXVI._

 Pitiful, Cesare thought, looking around the room. They were all pitiful. Every single one of them. 

Except Lucrezia, of course. She is, and always would be, the one and only exception. 

But Cesare was sick of it. Sick of the people around him. At school, at home. His father was pitiful for pitiless ambition, that stopped him from climbing the heights that he wanted to climb. Heh, the irony. His mother was pitiful for her distasteful dependence on alcoholic beverages. Juan was pitiful because well, he was  _Juan._ How sad that he'd never be able to beat him in anything except for their father's affection, which Cesare didn't even want anymore, hadn't wanted for a long time. Gioffre was pitiful because come on, who _still_ plays with dolls at ten? Lucrezia had stopped when she was seven, and she was a girl. 

Everyone at school was pitiful - their conversation were bland and boring, their lives seemed more tedious than his. The teachers looked pitiful every time they praised him, every time he saw their awe being reflected in their actions; he was smart, he got it already. Smarter than anyone else in his dumb school anyway.

It was such a pity - that word, pity again, Cesare had grown rather fond of using it - that by the time Lucrezia entered his secondary school, he'd be leaving for University. He wanted to go somewhere far, far away from his family but then again - could he really leave Lucrezia behind? Or would they allow him to take her with? He'd have a hard time convincing his father, but his mother was a drunk so it wasn't like she would even notice... hmm... The sooner he got her away from this wretched place, the better, anyway. 

Yes, he had decided that in the space of almost two minutes that no, Lucrezia wouldn't enter his secondary school, she'd enter a local secondary school somewhere around where his (probably stupidly prestigious) Uni would be. 

And finally, finally they'd get  _away_ \- which is almost all he's ever wanted his entire life, anyway. 

_XXVII._

Ursula Bonadeo had observed Cesare Borgia for a long time. 

She couldn't help herself - she couldn't believe that such an incredible person was actually real. How could someone be so good at everything? And ruggedly good looking to boot? It wasn't just Ursula; many girls in their class coveted Cesare as well. And really, who could blame them? Certainly not her. 

She observed the way that he always took the crusts off the bread, and ate it clean; observed how he finished quicker than anyone else, and proceeded to stare at the work in front of him, as if checking for mistakes (he was probably day dreaming, though); she observed how no matter what girl approached him, Cesare quickly brushed her off with disinterest. At one point, Ursula started to wonder if he was gay; it wouldn't come as a surprise. To everyone's knowledge, Cesare hadn't dated anyone,  _ever,_ so one could only come to the conclusion that he was gay, right? Which Ursula also didn't understand, because she knew that there were a couple of guys in class that wouldn't mind going gay for Cesare. He was just... that... perfect. 

And the thing was, no one could  _really_ approach him because of it. He had never done anything remotely shameful, but people couldn't seem to talk to him, or just... try and make a conversation. It wasn't anything he said, or anything - more his body posture, that closed-off aura that just screamed 'disinterested'. And because he seemed so much more superior, no one could really make normal conversation; not without being intimidated. 

So Cesare remained enclosed within a circle of awe and jealousy. The fact that he was rich certainly didn't help him. 

So, Ursula had given up on sustaining any sort of relationship - but hadn't given up observing, unlike the other girls. She was tenacious like that. So one day, when she was observing, she noticed a small twelve year old walking up to the school. She noticed the way Cesare's eyes lit up, and it was possibly the first time she'd ever seen him smile. 

Cesare ran to her, hugged her, and took her hand. 

Ursula felt sick. The girl was but twelve, but it was obvious that Cesare held feelings that were more than platonic for her. 

But still, for some reason, she felt satisfied knowing that he wasn't perfect, after all.

_XXVIII._

 "Do you like playing with that doll?" 

Gioffre heard the question and looked around wildly, first to see the person asking the question, and then to see who the question was directed to. He was startled to hear someone's voice (as he thought that he was alone in the room), but he was even more startled to see that the question was directed at  _him._ Someone was willingly initiating conversation with him? Why? His eyes darted, somewhat panicked, only to focus on the face that was addressing  _him._ It was a teacher; it was an adult. He relaxed, but only slightly. He was more used to talking to adults - he'd sometimes make conversation with the maids at his house. 

She kept staring at him, and he realised that he hadn't answered her question. What did she ask again? His doll, right - "Y-y-y... Y-y-yes," he managed to choke out eventually. 

"Oh," she smiled at him, and it was such a lovely smile; he couldn't remember the last time someone had smiled at him. 

She bent down and sat on the floor next to him, and began to pat the doll's hair. "It's a lovely doll," she said, and looked him in the eye. He blushed, and looked at the floor. 

"Th-th-thanks,"

"You know, whenever you're feeling lonely, you can always come to me," she murmured, and Gioffre looked at her, amazed that someone was saying something like this, to  _him,_ of all people. "We can play with that pretty doll together,"

And he smiled. 

He couldn't remember the last time _he_ smiled. 

  _XXIX._

"Happy birthday, Lucrezia," the family and the guests said in harmony, to a beaming Lucrezia. She was having a blast: her mother was sober for once, her father was there,  _Cesare_ was there, and now if the bunch of people who were there for business reasons could disappear she'd be even happier... but she knew that her father took advantage of whatever opportunity that came his way. That was what made him a good businessman, and he was the one paying for her education and for her food; what right did she have to say anything?

"Thank you, everyone," she said, before she blew out the candles on her cake. A polite round of applause followed, before she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Cesare, and she smiled up at him; he smiled back, before he pulled her into a tight hug. 

"Happy birthday, my Lucrezia," he whispered in her ear, breathed her in, and pulled back. 

"It'll be your birthday soon, too, Cesare," she told him, laughing. 

It was such a happy day. 

"Cesare," their father seemed to pop up from nowhere, "Come. Lucrezia is a big girl now. She should go socialise with the other kids - girls and boys." 

Rodrigo certainly had business and business connections on his mind. 

But Cesare - Cesare stiffened, and had one good look at Lurcrezia. Her birthday dress - pink - was tight, and it showed the curves that she was beginning to develop. Her face was narrower, with much less baby fat; her hair longer and glossier, done up in an elegant way. She was growing up. 

"Come," his father repeated, and pulled him away. 

She was... growing up. 

He didn't know how to feel about it, didn't know why he was frowning. 

_XXX._

She was leaving him. 

Cesare looked at her, stared at her figure which was so grown up, so feminine, that was just so  _Lucrezia._ She was so beautiful, what with her golden hair and pale skin and dark blue eyes and...  _she was leaving him._

She was laughing with other people, people he didn't know; she was smiling at boys, the same smile she smiled at him; and she was reaching for the light, away from him. Cesare looked down at his hands, looked around where he was standing, and realised he was enveloped with darkness. Is that why Lucrezia was leaving him?

"Lucrezia," he called out, but she didn't even turn her head, and continued her way into the light. No!  _No!_ He wouldn't - couldn't allow it! His whole being felt like it was going to burst. She couldn't - he wouldn't let her - leave! She was the only thing that mattered to him, and yet... 

He began to run towards here, bringing the darkness with him. Soon enough Lucrezia was in his grasp, with his hands on her throat. 

"No, you can't leave me," he murmured, bringing his face closer to hers. Her arms were flailing, panicked, and clawing at his grip on her throat. 

"Can't... breathe..." she whispered, the light in her eyes going out. 

Cesare woke up, startled and panicked himself. What had happened? What had he dreamed about? Why was he breathing so hard?

He stood up, stretched, and headed for Lucrezia's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :) It's becoming deeper and darker :O


	4. Shifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our characters actually begin to explore situations!

Vannozza hadn't always been a miserable alcoholic. Once, she'd been young, and beautiful, and happy... once, before she'd met Rodrigo Borgia, before this whole mess of a marriage even started. Her long dark curls used to glister even when it wasn't exposed to the sunlight; her mouth would hurt from smiling so much. She was every girl's envy. And she loved - thrived - in it. She'd never been particularly clever and she never had a hobby that she was particularly good at - so she felt proud knowing that she at least had her looks. And sometimes, looks proved to be the most important. Especially for first impressions. 

Just remembering Rodrigo's first impression (smart, handsome, well-mannered) made her want to scream. 

She had always wanted a family. To be a loving wife to a loving husband, lovingly looking after her children. She had wanted many children; she'd been an only child, after all. Her parents, being strict Catholics, never told her any better. Her mother had also been a housewife; told her that it was a woman's duty to look after the household and the children. Never taught her any better, never taught her to pay attention in school. 

Maybe if she had, Vannozza wouldn't feel as if she was in a cage that was constantly shrinking in size. 

But drinking helped. So, she drank. 

_XXXI._

"So, you never did tell me what her name was," Sancia murmured, softly stroking the doll's hair. Her eyes flickered, away from the doll, and into his own. He immediately brought his gaze down, and watched her hand, watched as it stopped its motions and moved away from the doll, and slowly towards him... towards his head. She gently began to pat his hair. Gioffre flinched. 

"M-mary," he muttered, embarrassed, for some reason. 

He should be used to this. For a while now, almost every lunch time, his teacher came to play with him, with his doll. They'd make up stories together, about her going places; they'd talk; sometimes, they'd just stay silent, and Gioffre liked that, too. The camaraderie of silence. Being silent with someone else. Usually, he hated silence... but it was different when it was with someone else; he didn't know why, it just was.

He had never experienced the pain of his mouth hurting because he had talked too much. And... he liked that pain. It confirmed the fact that this whole experience wasn't a dream. That Miss Aragon wasn't an imaginary friend he'd conjured up by himself; even if she was, it wasn't like she would've been the first. Probably wouldn't be the last, either, he thought to himself, smiling wryly.

"Mary," she repeated thoughtfully. "A lovely name."

"Yours is more lovely, though, Miss Aragon," Gioffre ducked his head in embarrassment. But he couldn't lie; it was. It was a name that he'd remember for the rest of his life. Sancia D'Aragon. Sancia D'Aragon. Sancia D'Aragon... even though she was a teacher, it was the name of his first... friend. Could he call her a friend? Would it be too presumptuous? It occurred to him to ask. So, rather hesitantly, he did. 

"Well, don't tell the others," she leaned it conspiratorially, "but yes, you are."

He beamed. 

Sancia D'Aragon. 

His first _real_ friend. 

  _XXXII._

 Lucrezia stared over the brim of her coffee cup. It was coffee, but it didn't have any actual coffee in it - Guilia had said that she was too young to drink. Instead, it held black tea and milk - her favourite. Still, she was not in the mood to drink.

"Something bothering you, dear?"

The blonde jumped at hearing her companion's voice. She had almost forgotten that Guilia was there... Almost. Because her presence was the main reason for Lucrezia's dilemma. 

Wasn't she betraying her mother? Going out with her father's lover behind her back? Enjoying the friendship that she was offering? But... would her mother even notice? She was probably drunk out of her mind at home... And Lucrezia couldn't afford to let herself rot along with her. She had other people she cared about. She couldn't... Couldn't...

"Penny for your thoughts?" the elder woman tried once more, reaching for the coffee cup (which held actual coffee) in front of her. 

Should she say? Should she not?

She should, Lucrezia decided. Because Guilia was her friend. 

"I'm afraid Guilia," she paused. How to proceed? Should she just tell her straight? Try more of a diplomatic approach? "I'm afraid, that.. I'm betraying my mother by meeting you," she blurted out, nervously pushing her hair behind her ear. Guilia looked startled, before she relaxed. 

"Dear, that's normal. If you don't wish to meet me, I understand completely, as long as there are no bad feelings between us-"

"No!" they were both startled by the desperation in Lucrezia's voice. But she couldn't help it. Guilia was her only friend that wasn't her family. Her only confirmation that she wasn't antisocial, that she wasn't weird, or a problem. Or maybe she was, maybe she was all three; maybe that was the reason that she couldn't make friends her own age, and instead had to resort to things like this. She wouldn't be surprised. 

"Okay... do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. 

"Well," Guilia struggled to find something to say. Finally, "How was school?"

School. Lucrezia's face darkened. School... it was beyond awful. Could she say that? She'd never had the chance to tell anyone else before. But... wasn't this a chance?

"Awful," she admitted finally. "I hate it."

Her friend (and her father's lover) was perplexed. "But you're a smart girl? I thought you would do well in school!"

"Oh, I do," Lucrezia agreed easily. "But... I can't really get along with anyone."

Guilia was even more perplexed. Lucrezia was a bubbly, easily-likeable girl. Why wouldn't she have friends? For some reason, things weren't adding up. "Is there any reason?" she asked, concerned.

She leaned in with a giggle, that was just slightly hysterical. "Well, for starters, they think my family's part of the mafia!"

"The mafia?"

"Yes. Since my last name is Italian... And other things, too. But I don't really want to talk about it anymore. I haven't really talked about it with anyone else." Guilia nodded, agreeing, understanding. She wouldn't talk about it to anyone, not unless she had Lucrezia's permission, even to her father. This was a particularly sensitive time for girls, and she might get bullied (if that was what in fact what was happening) even more if there was parental interference. As long as it didn't go too far. 

"I won't," Guilia promised sincerely. 

  _XXXIII._

"You know..." Cesare began hesitantly, eyeing Lucrezia. "I love you."

They were sitting on the sofa together, with her head on his lap, watching a movie that he hadn't been paying attention to. Their parents were off together (for business/promotion purposes, Cesare was sure) and Juan was who knows where. This was what it would be like when they finally moved away together, he thought. No boundaries. No distractions. No tears, no drama.

He couldn't wait.

And still, there was a small part of him (growing bigger every day) that could.

"I know," Lucrezia replied, snuggling into his legs. She turned her face so it faced the ceiling, so it faced him. "I love you too, Cesare."

He frowned.

She giggled.

"Aren't we too old for this now? I _only_ love you, Cesare," just when he was about to argue, about to say that she didn't know what she was talking about - she was only twelve - Lucrezia's hands brushed against his neck, and his thoughts froze. Bewildered, he kept staring blankly as her hands threaded around his hair, and pulled his head down to hers, until suddenly (or maybe it wasn't that sudden) he was kissing her. His hands shifted to support her back, his eyes inadvertently closing; he could feel the slightest stimulus against his skin. Her hair that brushed his skin; her fingertips; her warm breath against his lips. Her scent, it was just so... Lucrezia. 

Lucrezia; the baby that he'd looked after and cared for since she was brought into this world. Lucrezia; the little blonde haired girl that had looked at him in adoration from day one. Lucrezia; his sister. 

He was kissing his sister. 

Why didn't that fact bother him? Why didn't it disgust him? Why did he find himself wanting to get closer, instead of further away? This wasn't normal, he knew. He went through a faze of researching everything and anything there was to know about incest, so he knew. 

But... what is normal? The norms changes as society changes, which is constantly. There were a great many from royalty that married brother and sister... no one really knew about the townspeople, as there were no records, but Cesare could bet that they thought that whatever the monarchy did, was fine if they did, too. But no, religion dictated that it was morally incorrect, that it was  _gross..._ Personally, Cesare found the feeling of wanting to be with Lucrezia, and only Lucrezia, to be the most normal in the world. So he'd give it no further thought. When had he started caring about what others thought, in the first place?

Speaking of which, Lucrezia had separated herself from him, and was now looking at him with a pout. "What's got you thinking so hard?" 

"You," Cesare replied honestly, running a hand through his hair. 

"But I'm right here," she said, standing up to sit on his lap. She snuggled her head into his shoulder. "I'm right here," she repeated. "So think of me when I'm gone, okay?"

He laughed at her insecurity. "I always do, sis. Always."

_XXXIV._

 Juan stared at his hands. 

He was tired. So, so tired. 

"So, do you have any brothers?" the girl besides him giggled before she latched onto his arm in an attempt to flirt. "Any... older brothers?"

"You obviously know," Juan finally snapped, wrenching his arm away. "So give up. I'm not Cesare."

He was less than sober, to be honest. He had come along with a couple of mates to enjoy himself... and here he was, hating the evening. Wherever he went, Cesare just had to go too, it seemed. 

He clenched his fist angrily, and got up to leave. "Wait," the girl called, as confused as she was annoyed, "Where are you going?"

"Away from you," he answered and it was the last thing she heard from him before he left the establishment. 

Cesare. Cesare, Cesare, Cesare. It was always about Cesare; Juan was getting sick of it. How did that girl even know? He's never seen her in his life before. Was Cesare that famous? He knew that the Borgias, or his father, to be more precise, were quite famous - especially to gold diggers, which was what that girl was, evidently - but how was Cesare so famous? He never got out. Heck, he's never seen him bring any friends home; or go out with any friends - did he even have friends? So  _why_ -  _why_ was everyone so  _obsessed_ with Cesare? 

Right. Because Cesare was perfect. Because Cesare never did anything wrong. Because Cesare had his good looks and his smooth tongue and his genius and he was perfect, _perfectperfectperfect._ And he, Juan, he was all wrong - his nose was too sharp and he was average in school and he didn't know what to say half the time; more than anything, he wasn't _Cesare._ He was sick of being reminded, really.

But after a while, he'd drink some more and laugh some more and feel free as he forgot just how tired he was.

  _XXXV._

He stared at the traffic beneath him, that was coming and going. Coming and going, with each car having its own separate journey, almost like destiny. Gioffre couldn't help but marvel at how small they all were - like doll's cars. It gave him perspective - on how small he really was. How small each and every person were, in the grand scheme of things. Although everyone was their own main character to their own life story. 

Gioffre liked it - liked feeling the wind blow through his hair, liked immersing himself in the landscape - just him, and the sky above him. Somehow, it made him feel less alone; with no one here, he could almost ponder on what it would've been like had he had friends. Had he had people who cared. At ten, he could sense that he was unloved. 

If he fell down and died, would anyone care? 

His hands tightened their grip on the doll that they were holding. Such thoughts had become common to him; he couldn't even remember when they started. Did it matter? He wondered occasionally what exactly it was that was wrong with him, and could never come to a concrete answer. He just knew, something was. He wasn't normal. He couldn't be; not someone as invisible as him.

He liked coming here, to the building where his father worked. He liked taking the elevator to the top floor. What he liked even more was when he arrived to the roof, where he could just feel the minutes pass by without a care in the world; here, where no one else really dared to come. Here, where he reminded himself that no one really mattered; he may be small, but everyone else was small, too.

But maybe he would stop coming here. Maybe now, there was no reason to. Maybe Miss. D'Aragon would think that he mattered; would cry if he went away (six feet under, to be exact).

She was his friend, after all.

People cried for their friends, right?

 _XXXVI._  

"Today, I have an announcement for the class," the teacher announced, barely catching Cesare's attention. "We have a new student," she said, watching as the class erupted in excited chatter. A new student? A boy? A girl? Something in between? Would they be handsome? Ugly? Smart? Stupid? Honestly, Cesare found it very tedious - it wasn't anything "new" - just another person, just another day. School wasn't something Cesare enjoyed, and he never forgot that. "Micheletto, come in," she beseeched, stepping back as a tall boy with ginger hair stepped in.

Cesare's eyes widened as he stared at Micheletto's face. 

It wasn't his face that caught his attention; nor was it the muscles that adorned his body: it was his dead eyes. Micheletto's eyes were blank, blanker than what Cesare could get his to be on the best of days. Blank. Dead. When they made eye contact, they stared through Cesare - and cold shivers travelled up Cesare's spine. 

The teacher snapped Cesare out of his trance. "Cesare, please show Micheletto around, and help him with anything he needs help on, " she implored, and Cesare was too shocked to politely refuse. Instead, he blinked, and nodded dumbly. 

Five minutes later, after Micheletto sat down and made himself comfortable, Cesare managed to get his thoughts in order, and groaned inwardly. 

So he was stuck showing the new guy around.

Great.

_XXXVII._

 "Do you believe in God, Cesare?" she queried, her blue eyes gazing at him from underneath her lashes. He stared at Lucrezia, surprised that she would ask such a question; surprised that she had the awareness to ask such a question. The way that their father had pounded it into their heads that God was in fact real and benevolent and omnipotent, he didn't think she'd ever grow up enough to question it. It was just another sign of how quickly she was growing up, how quickly she was moving away from him. 

"No," he said decidedly, honestly. If God was a real entity, and if he was as omnipotent as he was said to be, why would he be born to a father that didn't love him, why be born to a mother that loved alcohol more than she loved her children? Why would Lucrezia be his sister? If God had existed, and if he had decided such things to be wrong, wouldn't he have stopped them from happening in the first place? Or maybe God wasn't the benevolent being that everyone thought him to be - maybe he was sadistic and cruel, greedy and wanton. Maybe he was the Devil, and there was no one else. 

He looked at the building in front of them: the Church they were forced to go to every Sunday, to pray in sanctity, to be cleansed in spirit. 

What a load of rubbish. 

Each person controlled their own destiny; coincidences happened for no reason, and achievements were rewarded by no one other than yourself, and maybe other mortal beings. Crime was not always punished with pain. In fact, it was often times rewarded - that is, if the victim let the criminal get away with it. 

It's a dog eat dog sort of world, there was no question about that. The strongest survived. Whether the strongest was good or evil was redundant; whether good or evil existed was redundant. Self-interest, egotism, and selfishness in general were what drove a man; and it was often the generous that paid for their generosity with blood and sweat they didn't even realise they were giving. Exploitation happened regularly, stifling the unaware; stifling the aware as well, as the society was already established, built in this manner. 

It's a dog eat dog sort of world, and Cesare had no intention of letting himself be eaten. 

"Do you?" Cesare voiced, his voice intense. Her eyes darted around to check if anyone eavesdropping; after all, what they were discussing wasn't very welcome in such a religious environment.

When she decided that no, no one was listening still, she answered, "I try to believe that he exists. But, Cesare," her face twisted, "I'd rather believe that God doesn't exist than for him to allow what's been happening to us happen." 

Cesare was about to reply, but at that moment, their father decided to intervene. "You two be quiet, the service is about to start!" Giving them an irritated look, he turned his body to face towards the cross and the priest. 

Cesare and Lucrezia both fell silent, contemplating what was just discussed. 

_XXXVIII._

The lights in the club were like a kaleidoscope of colour, constantly shifting, and blurring images and lines together. In the middle of it all stood Juan, more than slightly inebriated, superficially enjoying himself. His eyes came in and out of focus, usually on someone's butt or boobs - or the other naughty bits they chose to show. He was thinking - well, thinking wasn't exactly the right verb to use, but it was close enough - of having a late night, to try and get laid. He hadn't in awhile, and the last girl had majorly pissed him off. It wouldn't be the same this time, he'd make sure of it. 

Then he was aware of being pulled, and he blinked as his friend's face came into focus. He was sniggering stupidly, and Juan didn't know why, but he sniggered along anyway. 

"Hey man, Rob just came in and he brought some goods with him. Do you want to try?" he asked, opening his hand to show Juan a couple of pills. 

"I dunno man, what are they? What do they do?" he managed to slur out through his heavy tongue. His brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he was trying to comprehend what Jake was showing him. 

"They make you feel good. They make  _me_ feel good. Heck they're called ecstasy for a reason!" his laugh was loud and boisterous and a bit annoying, so Juan took one and swallowed it dry just to make him shut up. Rob did shut up, pinching a couple from his hand and swallowing them as well. 

The world started spinning, and the colours were blurring now more than ever - and everything suddenly seemed clear and quickening and slowing and he could see so many things and he felt  _incredible,_ and someone soft (a girl probably) was touching him and he'd never felt so  _good_ before and -

He didn't know what happened, didn't know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up his head was pounding and the sun was high in the sky.

_XXXIX._

When Sancia was a little girl she dreamt of princes and princesses, of castles and palaces, of happily ever afters. She didn't know what horrors had lied in store for her, she didn't know why she was born, didn't know what evil was. And she was happy.

When she started growing up, she started learning things. Like how she wasn't supposed to be born in the first place, see. Her father was a lying, cheating bastard that pretended he wasn't married at nightclubs - and her mother was a gullible, naive teenager who fell for his lies and got pregnant in the process. And when her mother confronted her father about it, he'd lied again - and of course, as he was a damn good liar, everyone believed him and not her mother. So Sancia grew up poor, in the care of her grandparents while her mother was out trying to make something of herself and miserably failing (because come on, people who fell for the kind of crap she did couldn't have been all that smart, could they?).

And of course, maybe her mother was lying to her all along, and the 'father' she'd been told about wasn't really her father at all. That  _had_ occurred to her before. Until she met him, of course, and realised that whatever terrible things her mother could have possibly said about him, he was worse.

When Sancia was twelve, her father had expressed the wish to see her. To maybe make a bond with her. And her mother, gullible that she was, allowed it - even made sure that it was one-on-one, so there were no outside interferences. She had wished that maybe, maybe father and child could get along.

How wrong she was.

Sancia still remembered the gleam in his eyes, the way he'd held her arms and thrusted into her until she was bloody and bruised. Remembered how he'd wiped the cum off his fingers with tissues, how he'd given her the 'after-pill' saying that he wouldn't "make the same mistakes again". How he'd left her there, a mess on the pavement.

She remembered, and she'd never forget.

_XL._

 "So what have you been up to today, sis?" Cesare asked, entering her room without knocking (why would he need to knock? There wasn't a thing that Lucrezia had to hide from him). 

"Nothing much," she smiled, gesturing to the book in her hands. "Discovering the adventures of Sir Potter," she clarified, setting the book on her nightstand. "And you, fine Sir? How was school?"

Cesare strolled towards her bed, lying besides her. If only his school finished at the same time, they might have been able to go home together - but alas, the age difference was too great. 

He grasped one of her hands with his, and she scooted over to make more room for him. Her pillow felt much more comfortable than his own as he lied on it, softer and better smelling. Probably because it smelled like her - of her. He turned his head to face her, taking in her familiar features, and the paleness of her skin. Their hair mixed together on the pillows, their heads were that close together. 

"Nothing much," he repeated her earlier words, and then he leaned in to kiss her (he couldn't help himself). It was slow and sensual, and much too short. 

Much too short, because she pulled away with her eyebrow raised. "Nothing much? So what, you sat there in silence for a full seven hours?" her teasing caused him to roll his eyes. 

"Well, no. I had to show the new guy around," he snorted, remembering the staring contest he'd had with 'Micheletto' earlier. 

"The new guy?"

"Yeah. He was a bit... different," Cesare admitted, before he leaned back in to kiss her again. 

This time, Lucrezia didn't pull away - she pulled him closer, her eyes flashing before they closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Yeah I hope that wasn't too subtle. This fic is quite subtle. And so, stuff will start changing hopefully! Sorry it took me so long to update.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment below to tell me what you think!


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